


What Songs Miss

by Erradianwhocantread



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, sentimental foolishness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erradianwhocantread/pseuds/Erradianwhocantread
Summary: Beor waxing sentimental about what it is he loves about Finrod. That's it, that's the whole thing.





	What Songs Miss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erlkoenig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/gifts).



The songs and stories got it all wrong. 

Some said he had been bewitched or enchanted. And indeed he had, though no spell had been laid upon him. Others said twas his own cunning that had so landed him in this strange realm, that he had bewitched the enchanter with his strength and used his wit to secure so many good gifts for his people, and a life of unfathomable wonder for himself. In some ways he had, though his lord should have done this for his people had he been no more interesting than a stone. Twas not the vast hordes of treasure that glittered in secret caves, nor his lord’s beauty, which surpassed the dawn breaking over the mountains, nor his voice, sweeter and more powerful than rain upon a desert, nor his wisdom, nor his generosity, nor any of these things that had caught his heart like a fish upon a line. None of these things which had transformed him from Balan to Beor, though all these things he loved and dearly.

Not a one of the songs and stories had yet guessed it, the stranger for how obvious it should be to anyone who had seen Felagund.

For Felagund moved with the seamless grace of a deer or a fish in a stream, and the very earth and air seemed to bend to his movements. And Felagund also moved with all the abrupt energy of a child or a sparrow, flitting and hopping to and fro in excitement and joy. And still, Felagund moved with the dangerous confidence of the large cat-beasts of the mountains, almost languid with all that coiled power. He had wasted a forest of paper trying in vain to capture the marriage of contradictions in his lord’s motions. He had wasted whole days watching him spar, watching him dance, watching him hunt and hold court and play upon his harp and climb trees for colorful leaves and abandoned birds nests. 

None of the stories his people told had it right. And how could they? For who among their authors had seen the glee with which Felagund, laughing, had pulled him into a stream and splashed the water all about just to marvel at the way it caught the light? Who among them had seen him still and fluttering, as a seabird about to dive from its cliff, just before they had made their union? Who had seen the way he would rise like the flood from his seat and stride, with the fearsome power of endless ice in one eye and the gentle radiance of the great trees in Ossiriand in the other, all might and ease and benevolence, to deal with the haughtiness of the neighboring realms? Who the way he would stretch himself after pleasure and curl, pliant and possessive, against Beor’s chest? Who the reverence with which he would stroke the hair on Beor’s chest and chin as it were more precious than gold?

Not a one of his people’s gossips or bards had gotten it right. And Beor supposed he liked it better that way.

**Author's Note:**

> For Erlkoenig, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
